‘We operated. He’s fine – on cage rest,’ Joe says.

‘The owners won’t adhere to that,’ she says. ‘They’re – you know.’

‘We had to do it,’ Cathy says.

‘I’m not sure I –’

‘Are you retired or still micro-managing?’ Joe says, then immediately regrets it as his mother’s face falls.

‘You all look thoroughly depressed,’ she remarks, instead of answering. ‘Post-holiday blues?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

‘Don’t be grumpy,’ she says, while he shifts uncomfortably underneath her gaze.

‘It’s just – we have to explain all our decisions to you. Because you don’t want to work, which I understand. But you still want to be involved,’ Joe says.

‘Sorry,’ his mother says, her voice higher pitched than usual. ‘Forgive me for wanting to know what’s going on in my own business.’ She spreads her arms wide, then drops them. Joe shakes his head in irritation. So totally unreasonable.

‘Forget it.’

‘Tell us more about Verona,’ Maria says. ‘You hear about the man – the missing English guy – while you were there?’

The atmosphere tenses like a muscle. It’s hard to imagine she doesn’t know, or won’t work it out, Joe thinks, as he finishes his beer. She’s their mother.

But what is atmosphere, really? It’s only body language. Nothing more or less specific than that. The molecules of the air don’t change because they know something their parents don’t.

‘Yeah,’ Joe says. ‘You already texted.’

‘I know. Nobody replied to me.’

‘There were a few police around, they did ask us some stuff.’ He darts a look at Frannie. ‘It wasn’t a big thing.’

He sees Cathy shift across the bar from him. She’s looking downwards, at the Labradors, but he knows she heard him. She reaches a hand to grab her Coke. It’s steady.

‘Were they scary?’ Maria says. This is how her mind works: always, always, always to the worst-case scenario. Joe’s had enough, even though on this occasion, her maternal instinct is bang on. Look where they’ve ended up. Solving problems themselves, instead of asking for help.

‘No,’ Joe says testily.

‘Poor bloke,’ Owen says, and the atmosphere immediately descends into sadness. Their parents are thinking about Rosie, but his siblings – Joe is sure – are thinking about William.

Frannie’s gaze is watery as she looks across the room at him and Joe wills her to hold it together.

‘Yeah,’ she says thickly, once the grieving sister, now the perpetrator of another family’s grief. They lapse into what their parents must think is a companionable silence as Joe, Frannie and Cathy sit there, feeling like ghouls, like villains.

Joe feels a buzzing in his pocket and brings his phone out. It’ll be Lydia.

It’s a +39 area code. His whole body goes cold. He stares at it, then holds it up to Cathy to show her. ‘Italy calling,’ he says, his voice strange and hoarse.

‘Do you want me to take it?’ she says immediately.

‘No, I can,’ Joe says. He can feel his parents’ eyes on him.